The Sorry Truth
by fighterkirby1998
Summary: The day comes finally for Katniss's daughter to learn the truth of her mother's past, dark secrets of rebellion and regrets for mistakes. Most of all, the dead. Katniss holds her Death Book to light at last, spilling out her sorry truth... One-shot.


One-shot fanfiction on what happens the day Katniss tells her daughter, Rue, what really happened in those dark corners of her past... Katniss will finally speak out the sorry truth...

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I grip the book tightly in my hands. Today is the day to tell them.

"Katniss?" Peeta's hands find their way to my cheek, and slowly stroking it, asks what's going on my mind today.

But he must know.

I don't say anything, simply slide a finger down the spine of the book. Peeta doesn't ask, either, simply sits down next to me.

"You sure about this?" he whispers. It's been years since the rebellion, and he has long since recovered from his hijacking incident. Mostly. Sometimes, though, he still have spasms. The children have been wondering about it, asking me why Father wants to hurt Mother. I've never told them the truth of the rebellion, of the Mockingjay, or the Hunger Games. Nothing of my past has been revealed to them.

It's time to tell them. One of them, at least.

"I'm sure," I whisper shakily. Peeta nods slowly.

"Both of them?" he asks.

I stand up so abruptly the book nearly falls out of my hands. "No. Never. Not both of them. Finnick is much too young, only seven."

"Rue, then?" Peeta asks. What a stupid question. We only have two kids. But I only nod, knowing that we cannot fight today. Peeta can't have his attacks today.

"Yes, Rue. She is thirteen. The… right age."

Peeta falls silent, knowing that I am thinking of my own sister, Primrose Everdeen, who died at thirteen.

"Well, I'll go get them," he says finally, leaving the room. I sit down and remain there until the door opens again and Rue comes in, her dark strands of hair messily arranged. She's been playing in the Meadow in the windy weather for sure.

"Mother!" Rue skips happily to my side. She looks at the book in my hands. She has never seen it in her life. I keep it hidden away, locking away its storage of dark secrets. Now it's time to bring it to the light.

"It's a book," I say, before Rue can ask. Her face falls a bit.

"_The _book?" she asks. "The Death Book?"

I sit back, startled. Peeta cocks his head, wondering when Rue figured that out.

"I heard you guys talking," she whispers. "A few years ago. You kept on talking about a book. Saying names. Mother… who is Cinna? Boggs? Mags? You keep talking about them… but I don't know who they are."

My heart pangs as I remember the years so long ago, when they were still alive. Not only them, but so many others too. Rue. Thresh. Finnick. Lady, even, an animal of actual value that was taken away in the rebellion. The Star Squad. Tributes. Victors. Soldiers. _Rebels._

The word clicks in my mind. _Rebels. _That's what I am, and I got away with it… alive. What about the others, who _didn't _get out of it alive?

Now is the time to explain it.

"We'll tell you everything," I say, tears forming puddles in my eyes. They slide out one by one, each drop for one dead person I knew. Madge. Seeder. Cashmere. The morphlings. Darius. Lavinia.

"Are you ready, sweetheart?" Peeta asks, and sits down, motioning for Rue to sit in between the two of us. She does so, and rests one hand on the cover of the book, as if filling its dark power for her own.

Cecelia. Castor. Messalla. Bonnie. Twill. The dead people's names float around in my head, an endless sea of tears for the ones who sacrificed their lives for the cause of rebellion. For me.

"I'm ready," Rue whispers. Her hand opens the book to its first page.

_The Death Book, _reads the front page. Rue's hand traces the words slowly, stunned by her chance to learn its secrets at last. Somewhere outside, Finnick screams for his sister and parents. Peeta leaves to comfort him, leaving me alone with my daughter.

The book flops open to its second page, showing a laughing girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. The picture takes up most of a page, is yellowed with age, but the girl in it is still as fresh as a raindrop, as beautiful as the flower for which she was named for.

_Primrose Everdeen, _the letters above her head reads. "This is your aunt, Rue," I explain. A choke rises from my throat, and with no Peeta to comfort me, I have to keep going for Rue's sake. She must know the truth. Although rebellion information is thoroughly classified, someone must know the story. The words of Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay, must never die. The truth has to be kept. I will not take it to my grave.

"Her name was Primrose Everdeen," I whisper, steadying myself for the horrible times that will soon follow. "She was four years my junior. When she was thirteen…"

"That's how old I am now," Rue says.

"Indeed," I murmur quietly. "You two have the same birthday. Today is the anniversary of the Capitol's fall. At this moment, thirty years ago, my sister, your aunt, fell to death."

Silence dawns upon the dining room. This place is getting suffocating. This is my house at the Victor's Village. Here, thirty years ago, Primrose Everdeen would've sat here doing homework, eating meals, or having fun. Would've stood here healing the numerous patients brought to my mother's hands. I tell my mind to stop it and keep explaining.

"She was a doctor of sorts. She worked magic with healing; we used to have a goat Prim nursed back to health. But that's the same cause she died for."

I can't explain any further. Peeta will have to do it later. Now I only have to introduce Rue to the basis of those I love.

"She was the only person I was certain I loved," I say, echoing my thoughts from decades ago. Tears fall onto the table, well away from the book. Good. I don't need tears soaking up memories, either.

"What about Grandmother?" Rue asks, her fingers crawling along the words and pictures that describes Prim.

"Not even her," I say, and flip to the next page, before Rue can say anymore.

"That's Cinna. He was my stylist for both Games, and he turned me into the Girl on Fire. Into the Mockingjay. He designed clothes that fit me and me alone. He transformed me from unwanted to amazing. But he was taken by the Capitol after I headed into the Quarter Quell…"

My fingers stroke a piece of velvet glued to the book. And the designs he drew. I don't want to linger on Cinna. His quiet, intelligent self seems to materialize next to me, for I am wearing what he once designed. Saliva fills up rapidly in my mouth, and I'm threatening to dump another liter of tears onto the table. I flip the page quickly before I lose control.

For the rest of the day, I tell each and every person to Rue. Tell her the truth of who they were, how they died, and how much they meant to me. I even included the pictures of those I hate, such as Brutus, or Cato, or even Thread. In the end, it wasn't their fault for being evil. It was their parents, their families, the influences of Careers and the Games that brought down their evil. They could've been as innocent as Prim, but died from the spite of murder.

"The 74th Hunger Games tributes," I tell Rue. "Glimmer and Marvel… I killed them both." Of course, I don't tell her why I killed Marvel. It's best to save Rue, as in the tribute, towards the end. "Cato and Clove… my fiercest opponents. That's Foxface there, the slyest of them all. She was killed out of stupidity by your father. Then there's Thresh from District Eleven, who saved me from Clove."

"You killed them all?"

"No," I say. My stomach clenches as I think of Cato, of Glimmer, or Marvel. Or that District Nine boy. I never found out his name. "But some of them."

Rue's tears join mine at the table.

"Then came the 75th Hunger Games," I say. "They were the Games of the victors from previous Games. I thought that Peeta and I were out of the arena, but… we went back. Together."

I outline the arena. "Wiress from District Three figured it out first. She was the smartest…"

"What happened to her?" Rue asks.

"She died. Cashmere killed her."

"Oh." Rue snuggles closer to me. "That's so sad, Mother."

"It was years ago," I admit. "But anyways, the tributes from that year… it was worse, because I actually knew their names. Cashmere and Gloss from District One… Brutus and Enobaria from Two… Wiress and Beetee from Three… Mags from Four…"

I go ahead and list all the victors, skipping Finnick Odair for the same reason I skipped Rue's. Blight. Cecelia. Woof. Seeder. Chaff.

"The deaths from the rebellion were the worst of them all," I say. It's too much to put into words, especially with Peeta's hijacking. Boggs. Jackson. Cressida. Mitchell. Homes. Countless others who lost their lives for the rebellion. Slowly, bit by bit, we reach the end of the Death Book.

Castor's page is among the biggest, even though he was only a cameraman. "Why is that?" Rue asks.

"The Hanging Tree," is my reply. Rue leans in, deciphering the small words of the song, the same ones I sang to Pollux, Castor's brother, that horrid day at District Twelve.

_Are you, are you,_

_Coming to the tree,_

_Where they strung up the man they say murdered three…_

While Rue reads the words, I prepare myself for the worst part I must explain. The deaths of Rue and Finnick, why my children are named after them.

Three pages left.

"Done?" I ask after a few minutes. Rue lifts her head and nods slowly, tears rolling down the bridge of her nose.

"Done."

I hold my breath and flip the book.

There is no name on the page. But I can recognize the picture anywhere – his golden hair, sea-green eyes, and the lopsided smile that's always on his face. The handsome Finnick Odair stares up at me, his face still fresh and whole before the mutts shred him into pieces.

"He is the tribute of District Four, from the Quell," I whisper. "A major contribution to the rebellion… Rue, do you know Annie? Annie Cre– I mean, Annie Odair?"

"Yeah," Rue says. "Her son comes over all the time."

"This man here… he is her husband."

Rue gasps softly. "Annie mentioned something about a dead husband who was her mentor… He was lovely, sweet, humorous and beautiful… his name is…" Rue searches the page for the name.

"Finnick Odair," I say. "He was a good friend. Without him, neither me nor your father would be standing here today. In fact, the rebellion wouldn't have started without him. I named your brother after him."

Rue's face looks downcast. I don't want to show her the last death. But I must.

"I named you after someone else, too," I say.

"The tribute from District Eleven," she says gloomily. "The one you skipped."

I don't say anything, merely flip the page. There she is, another unlabeled name, but her lovely face looking up. Her stomach is still complete and whole, though, but now she decays in District Eleven, nothing but ashes left of the sweet girl who was once my ally, the chirping girl singing in the trees. Friend of the mockingjays, essential to my survival. I wonder who sings in the wheat fields now.

"Her name is also Rue. She was my ally." I don't feel like explaining more, but I must. "She would sing the most lovely songs, and the mockingjays would follow."

"How did she die?"

"Marvel killed her. The boy from District One."

"You killed him?"

"Yes," I say. "He died before Rue. I… I sang her to death."

Rue's tears splotch my sleeve as I turn to the final page of the book. There it is, all the words of the song. Like I've done with Rue, I must finish the song, the final part of telling my daughter the truth.

"_Deep in the meadow, under the willow,_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow._

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes,_

_When again they open, the sun will rise…"_

Rue's eyes close, as if really wondering who will sing this song to her once she dies.

"_Here it's safe, here it's warm,_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm._

_Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true,_

_Here is the place where I love you…"_

"Beautiful," Rue whispers.

"_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away,_

_A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray,_

_Forget your woes and let your troubles lay,_

_When again it's morning, they'll wash away…"_

My breath comes in gasps, tears pouring endless out. But I must finish the song.

"_Here it's safe, here it's warm,_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm._

_Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true,_

_Here is the place where I love you…"_

There it is. The sorry truth at last.

Rue stares out at the meadow. The place where the dead ones sleep, even those who were blasted dead like my sister was. She now knows that she plays on a graveyard of the dead, their final resting place.

I remain sitting long after Rue leaves to find her father, to clarify or even to testify to see if I told the truth. But I did, and the truth is unavoidable. The whole sorry truth of my life as the Mockingjay, even though I was unwilling to be one. Just like I'm unwilling to tell the truth now, speak out my story, but I must. And I did.

I will have to do it one more time, for Finnick. It will be easier then, surely, just as holding him at birth was easier. But still, I begin to worry about that, for I do not want to repeat the episode that happened today. I can only tick off each day on the calendar as the days slip away one by one…

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